


A Kiss Goodbye

by Mithen



Category: Philip Marlowe - Chandler
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene, Not a Fixit Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-03
Updated: 2010-05-03
Packaged: 2017-10-09 07:08:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing moment from the final scene of Raymond Chandler's <i>The Long Goodbye</i>: some goodbyes are harder than others. The opening and closing lines in italics are taken directly from the ending of the book.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Kiss Goodbye

_"You bought a lot of me, Terry. For a smile and a nod and a wave of the hand and a few quiet drinks in a quiet bar here and there. It was nice while it lasted. So long, amigo. I won't say goodbye. I said it to you when it meant something. I said it when it was sad and lonely and final."_

"I came back too late," he said. "These plastic jobs take time."

"You wouldn't have come at all if I hadn't smoked you out."

There was suddenly a glint of tears in his eyes. He put his dark glasses back on quickly.

"I wasn't sure about it," he said. "I hadn't made up my mind. They didn't want me to tell you anything. I just hadn't made up my mind."

I watched him fidget with the buttons of his lambskin gloves. He looked like he wanted me to tell him to leave, or ask him to stay, like he still couldn't make up his mind. "Eileen put the moves on me," I said. I don't know why I said it. "She pretended she thought I was you and tried to get me into bed with her."

That made the gloved hands twitch just a little. Then he shrugged, a small dismissive movement. "It didn't work, I gather," he said. His smile was sad and faraway, like he was remembering something. "Poor Eileen. She was always a bit mad, you know."

"I know. She was in love with her own purity, her sweet untainted love for a dead man. At least, she thought he was dead. She didn't go looking too hard, didn't ask too many questions. She liked it that way because the dead are perfect, and as long as they stay dead, you can imagine you were perfect along with them. Never old and tired, always brave and beautiful, reflected in the memory of their eyes. The dead don't turn back up alive as spineless cowards, hollow men stuffed with straw. And you didn't have the decency to stay dead. That must have made her even crazier."

His smile turned bitter at the edges, bitter and knowing. "You've got a lot in common with her, don't you?"

Then he stepped forward and he put his mouth on mine, clumsy and fast as if he'd wanted to do it for a long time, like he'd thought about it too much.

I shoved him away, hard. The backs of his legs came up against the desk with a thump and he looked at me as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "Get out," I said. "Get out of here, you--

No.

No. God knows maybe I should have done that, God knows maybe I wish I had, but if you can't be honest with yourself, well, why get out of bed in the morning, is what I'm saying.

So no, I didn't shove him away. I held onto his fawn-colored lapels like he was drowning, or like I was.

It was different from kissing a woman, it was rougher and harder. And sweeter.

It went on for a long time, and I wasn't the one who pulled away. But when he did, I moved back a step and said, "There's one big difference between Eileen and me. I'm not crazy."

I could see him take that in. He still had his sunglasses on, and I could see myself in them, small and far away. I wanted to take them off so I could see his eyes again, silver-gray wavering toward blue, never quite getting there. I wanted to see myself in them, but on the other hand there didn't seem to be much point in that.

"Philip," he said. He'd never called me that before, it was always my last name or "chum" or "mate" or so on. But now he said "Philip," and his voice was like a tropical breeze and a Mexican sun and a cool drink with lime waiting for you. It was a question, and an invitation.

I answered it the only way I knew how. "The name's Marlowe, and I'm a private detective."

He shook his head slow, puzzled. "I don't understand. I didn't want anyone to get hurt. I'm sorry they did. I guess I just don't understand why we can't be together."

"I know. That's why it won't work," I said.

He understood that I meant it, even if he didn't understand anything else. "I thought you...cared about me, at least a little," he said. "Don't you?"

That hurt. It hurt that he would ask. "Sure," I said. "But it doesn't change anything."

"I care about you."

"You don't, not really," I said. "You're a nice guy, sure. You'll go along with anyone to get along. But you didn't really care about Eileen, or about Sylvia, or about Wade. Not as people. You don't really care about anyone or anything but Terry Lennox. And I'm not so sure about him, either."

That half-smile tugged at his mouth again, but he was far away already. Far away, and getting farther. "I'm not either, old top," he said. He held out his hand. "I guess this is really goodbye then," he said.

I shook his hand. He held on for longer than he needed to. I didn't let go as fast as I could have, either. But mostly I was thinking how, because he still had his gloves on, I wasn't really touching him. So the last time would be that kiss.

"Goodbye, Marlowe," he said.

_He turned and walked across the floor and out. I watched the door close. I listened to his steps going away down the imitation marble corridor. After a while they got faint, then they got silent. I kept on listening anyway. What for? Did I want him to stop suddenly and turn and come back and talk me out of the way I felt? Well, he didn't. That was the last I saw of him._

I never saw any of them again—except the cops. No way has yet been invented to say goodbye to them.


End file.
